


A Hundred Words for Snow

by dietplainlite



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 100 word drabble, Drabble, F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Wordcount: 100, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/pseuds/dietplainlite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collected Sherlolly 100 word stories.  All prompts are from Tumblr. Each chapter title is the prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Song Prompt: Another Mourning Morning

This room is too bright in the morning. White walls, eastern facing windows. But it is safe. They've come here three times, never planning in advance. He will find himself on the train, like he's been sleep walking. He texts her, always the same; "Please come round for tea."

There is always some pretense: information, supplies, reports on John's wellbeing. But these are all things he could procure on his own. She knows this. She goes along with it up until the moment he reaches for her.

She never stays the night. Slips out softly before the sheets have dried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is the song Another Mourning Morning by Just Jack.


	2. Lollipop

He is trying to quit smoking again and she can’t bear it, between worrying he’ll overdose on nicotine patches, and the absolutely obscene way that he is sucking on a cherry flavored lolly while examining evidence.

He doesn’t mean to. It is merely the nature of his mouth. But it is driving her to distraction. And oh Christ his lips are stained slightly red.

“Sherlock? I think there are a few other ways we can deal with your oral fixation, don’t you?”  
He looks at her, then fires off a text. 

wife, inheritance, weapon in lake—SH

“Supply closet?”

“Yes.”


	3. Lovesick

Sherlock sighed dramatically.

“No, I will not take your vitals again. They were fine the last five time and they’re fine now.”

“Then there is obviously something wrong which is beyond the pale of your expertise, John”

“Then go to an expert, I’m reading the paper.”

Sherlock threw himself on the sofa. 

“Or, you could just call her.”

The detective lifted the pillow from his face. “Are you implying that this is a psychosomatic response to having a tiff with my—significant other?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m reading the bloody paper.”

“Fine, but I prefer to text.”

John sighed.


	4. Azure

The word “Azure” on the front. Date, time and address on the back. A search turned up no results.

She took Mary with her. Only an alley where the address should have been.

“What’s she doing here?” Sherlock said, striding toward them.

“I’m not going to come to some nonexistent address by myself. What are you doing here?”

“Meeting you. Thank you Mary.” He led Molly down the alley to a blue door. He rang the buzzer and gave his name. The door opened into a boutique that seemed to carry nothing but antique rings.

“You little shit,” she said.


	5. Classical Music Appreciation

Molly put the DVD into the player. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen this.” 

“It’s got Mickey Mouse on the cover, why are you surprised?”

She settled beside him on the sofa. “He’s just in one part. It starts out with Bach.”

“This is like a visual representation of synesthesia,” he said a few minutes in.

“The rest isn’t quite so abstract.” 

He examined the box. “Can we skip The Nutcracker?” 

“No, that’s my favorite, beside the one with the fauns.” 

“Barbarian.”

“Snob.”

“Plebeian.”

“Elitist.”

She kissed him before he could respond. “You were saying?”

“How long is this, again?”


	6. Duvet

She used to think of him as a monk. Devoted to a cause larger than himself. Living in self-imposed austerity. 

Celibate.

And while he definitely possessed a beatific devotion to his work, he also possessed 1000 thread count sheets. Monks don’t have those. Nor do they have down pillows and mattresses like clouds and dark drafty flats chock full of the most interesting and sometimes macabre things. And as she gripped the duvet in her fists and arched her back with a sigh, she thought to herself that they definitely, definitely did not do such wicked things with their mouths.


	7. Shoes

He’s tracked in mud. Funny that she knows it’s him, not an intruder. She’s not like him; she doesn’t know from the tread of his shoes or the length of his stride, though she might be able to distinguish that by now. She knows from the citrus and sandalwood smell of him that hasn’t hung in the air of her flat for months. She knows because it’s just about time. Because she didn’t think of him for three days in a row. She follows the footprints to her cracked bedroom door, because what happens next, she also knows by rote.


	8. Pillow

Sherlock surveyed his handiwork with pride, but Molly looked skeptical. 

“There’s no room for you with all this.”

Sherlock frowned. Molly lay on her side with one pillow under her head, hugging a second pillow, with another supporting her top leg, and a final thin one supporting her burgeoning belly.

“The book says it’s the most advantageous sleeping position. How do you feel?”

“Supported…and suffocated. And I’ll end up kicking them all off anyway.” Her somewhat petulant expression softened as she looked at him. “I’ll try it, though.”

He smiled and squeezed into bed behind her. “See? Plenty of room.”


	9. Christmas

“Father Christmas just surfed up onto the beach.”

“What?”

“There,” Molly said, pointing to the beach, where indeed, a bearded man in a Santa hat and reindeer print swim trunks strode with a surf board tucked under his arm. 

Sherlock joined her on the balcony and put his arms around her. “You miss London.”

“I didn’t until now. It’s just so different.”

“If we got the next flight out it’d still be Christmas when we got home. Barely.”

“No, I’m just being silly. Different is good. It’s so lovely. And warm.”

“And we’re together,” he murmured.

“What?”

“You heard me.”


	10. Snow

She is so very small. It is a fact that he becomes more aware of at times, such as now, hovering above her, hand palm to palm with hers. Her hair is damp from melted snow and she glows with reflected firelight and radiated love. She is so very small but that tiny hand could crush him with a gesture, can calm him with a touch. She is so very small but she is tremendous in her strength. Unstoppable in her devotion. She fanned large the dimmest of flames in a fire long banked and warms herself in the glow.


	11. Just My Type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't read this if you haven't watched The Empty Hearse.

He is overwhelming up close. She’s forgotten that. His spicy sweet scent with a trace of underlying chemicals and the heat of him all caught in that coat. It’s been so long since he’s invaded her space. Invaded her mind. Invaded her body.

_No. Stop thinking about that._   


There is the brush of the down on his cheek against hers followed by his lips.  
They’re always slightly dry. The texture of them on her skin like the calluses on his fingertips. 

_Stop it, Hooper._

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath of cold air as he walks away.


	12. Singing

“The funny thing is, his name is Desmond Jones,” Molly said to the lab tech.

“What’s so funny about that?” Sherlock said.

She hadn’t thought he was listening as he’d been staring at the wall, hands steepled under his chin, for the past hour. 

“You know.  The song.  ‘Ob-la-di Ob-la-da.’ Desmond and Molly?”  She sang a few lines.  He furrowed his brow.

“And you’re going on a date with this Desmond?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Should be plenty of time,” he said to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing. Erm.  Have a good time,” he turned back to the microscope, typing on his phone. 


	13. Graduation

“This is ridiculous,” Sherlock whispered as the speaker stepped to the podium.

“Shhh,” Molly said.

“It is. A graduation ceremony for obedience school?  The puppies don’t care.”

A man in a Dachshund print jumper turned and glared.

“Sherlock,” Molly warned as he started to tell the man his partner was cheating on him with their show dog’s handler. “Of course they don’t. But Violet _does_ and she’s worked so hard.”

Violet waved from the dais and graced her father with a gap-toothed smile, holding her mixed breed puppy Arthur’s lead.

Sherlock nodded at his daughter, failing to suppress a grin.   



	14. Blowjob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one might be considered rated T.

Sherlock looks up from his microscope and turns to Molly.  “I don’t understand.”

“Hmmm?”  Molly says, absorbed in a book.

“Why’s it called a blowjob? Why not a suckjob?”

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about while examining those spores?”

“The thought process was a bit convoluted but I did get there in six steps—“

“I don’t need a run down,” she says.  “Have you looked it up?”

“My laptop’s on the desk.”

Molly unfolds herself from his chair and saunters over to him.  “Well, I don’t know anything about the why. But I know plenty about the how.”

 


	15. Pub Crawl

You did it wrong

_Did what wrong?_

The calculations we’re wrong.no sweet spot.

_Didn’t you just start?_

Why does everyone keep saying that

_Do you need me to come get you?_

No we’re on a case now.wanted you to know your wrong.

_On a case?! Is that a good idea?_

Of course why not. Nfot going to let your miscalchulation stop me finding a ghost.

_Ghost? Whatever. Did you need anything or did you just text to scold me?_

Yes. When you said quit a lot of sex how much is that really

_Sherlock, I’m turning off my phone now._


	16. Nature

She sees things. Mr. Holmes caressing his wife’s hand under the table at breakfast. The playful expression on Mrs. Holmes’ face when she swats her husband with a newspaper for saying something silly. A pint of blueberries in the fridge with a cheeky note. Slippers set by the fire. She sees, and on days when Sherlock wakes up and doesn’t speak for hours, or when he flies to Budapest for a case with only a text as warning, she flips through the file and ceases worrying. Because while it may not be in his nature, he’s not lacking for nurture.


	17. Sore Lips

Sherlock eyed the stitches in the hand mirror, squinting and skeptical. 

“Minimal scarring they said?”

“Dr. Lyons is one of the finest cosmetic surgeons in the country.  She only used three stitches and they’re tiny. Your lips will be as perfect as ever.”  Molly put her mirror back in her purse and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. (The one that wasn’t sporting an enormous bruise.)

“The other guy looks worse.”

“The other guy is my cousin, and no he doesn’t.”

She lifted his hand and kissed his bruised knuckles.

“This is unacceptable, though, unless I’m in actual danger.”

“I know.”


	18. Mush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt "Fluffy parentlock"

Her voice carries over the creaks and rattles of the building and the whoosh of the rain and traffic on the street below, rousing him. He stands, aware of the gloom, which retreats as he walks toward their bedroom.

“And a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush.”

“And a quiet old lady wath whithpering, ‘Hush!’”  A tiny voice joins Molly’s. 

“Wonderful! You can tell this one on your own now!”

“It’th better when you tell it.”

“Is that so?” Molly says. Two sets of brown eyes meet his. “I think Daddy might tell it even better.”


End file.
